NoMo

So I had this fantasy of doing NaBloPoMo, although I didn't sign up - something about my fear of commitment. I thought it might actually lead me to write here more often, and maybe, occasionally, write something of some merit or substance, let people actually get to know something more about Judy, not just how cute my kids are or how many trains I tripped over today.

It is night, now, and the only time I could really get to write something of substance. Unless I steal the time during Turner's nap, and let Guthrie watch another movie. My "me" time that I get on a regular basis is Monday, Wednesday, Friday (and sometimes Saturday) mornings going to the gym at roughly 9:30 (because that's when Jeopardy is on) to work out. And instead of writing something of substance, I am tired, and have decided to do what I usually do at this time, and sitting down with a glass of wine to converse with my husband, hopefully about something adult and substantive, that does not involve talking of poop, toys, or Thomas the Tank Engine.

Tonight's conversation, so far (Eric got called away briefly) is about taxes, and why they are not evil. That could be a post to itself, but it all frustrates me, and I start feeling so hopeless and angry at people who can't get their head around the whole idea (you drive on roads funded by taxes, you send your kids to schools funded by taxes, maybe your salary is even paid by taxes), that I just want to give up, and go join a group of Communists out there somewhere. Except I don't really want to become Amish.

And so to turn the conversation around, I'll probably bring up new words said by Turner, Guthrie's sudden interest in expanding his vocabulary, and Thomas the Tank Engine. Such is life around here.